


when you have to be both

by kayelem



Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Issues, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:33:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26314210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayelem/pseuds/kayelem
Summary: In the darkness, Herald asks her a question.
Relationships: Herald/Sidestep (Fallen Hero), Ortega & Sidestep (Fallen Hero)
Kudos: 15





	when you have to be both

**Author's Note:**

> January is non-binary, but uses feminine pronouns. 
> 
> Enjoy!

##  _when you have to be both._

“Can I ask you something?" 

Herald’s question is whispered into the darkness of his bedroom, so quietly that January almost misses it. It’s asked gently, softly, the way someone would speak to a spooked animal - and if that isn’t just an apt description of January she doesn’t know what else would be more fitting. 

His mind is a nervous, curious hum, almost vibrating against the walls of her mental shields. But there’s a fear there as well, pawing plaintively behind the anxiety. 

She wants to tell him no. Because that’s what got her into this situation, into Herald’s bed, in the first place. A simple favor asked with too endearing, nerve-flushed cheeks and a bright, hopeful smile. 

She wants to tell him not right now. Because she wants to forget, just for a moment longer, about the world beyond the edges of this bed. Wants to curl up into the solid warmth of him and pretend they’re _just_ Daniel and January. 

Instead, January takes a breath and replies in the same way she doomed herself those months ago: "Asking’s free.”

The inhaling breath that Daniel takes is as much for courage as it is for time. His mind is now a flurry as possible reactionary scenarios to his question flit across his thoughts like a flip-comic. His best case scenario is that she’ll have a similar breakdown to when January revealed her tattoos to him. His worst case is that she will leave and he’ll never see her again. 

“Please,” Daniel begins and January hears him lick his lips in the dark. “Don't… don’t feel like you have to answer, but… how are you different… from the — _others_?" 

_The others_. 

She knows without clarification that he means the other ReGenes. The ones who could not possibly be mistaken for anything near human with their blue-grey skin and full bodied sickly orange tattoos. Meant to stand out, be seen and feared, used and recycled or discarded when they outlived their usefulness.

 _Not like you._

The blanket pools at January’s waist as she sits up. And the room begins to spin as she drops her head in her hand, tries to keep the panic from crumpling her lungs like tin foil. Sweat starts to dampen her hairline, is beading on her upper lip and she’s terrifyingly aware of how heavily she’s suddenly breathing. Her throat is achingly dry when she tries to swallow and _desperately_ wishes she had a drink. Whiskey, bourbon, scotch, _anything_ to burn out the bile she can already taste at the back of her tongue. 

January is desperately trying not to feel the chill of an exam table against her back. The sharp, biting pinprick of a needle at the bend of her elbow. White noise static loss of feeling in her fingers and toes from too tight restraints. The weight of sensors and their cords attached to her skin, itching with adhesive. The too clean scent of disinfectant, antiseptic overpowering the metallic tang of blood, the sour smell of sweat. Whirs and beeps and the humming of machinery drowning out the cacophony of detached, methodical thoughts — 

Daniel’s hand is suddenly warm and _real_ against her back, splayed across her shoulder blade, the tips of his fingers fitting between the notches of her spine. "Hey,” he breathes. “It’s okay. January, come back to me." 

She focuses on the weight of his hand on her, the navy tinted, apologetic concern of his thoughts. The ridges of certain scars beneath the pads of his fingers as he soothes his hand across her shoulders before he cups the back of her neck. If he can feel her trembling and the sweat slick on her skin, he doesn’t acknowledge it. 

"I’m sorry,” he says when she seems to, finally, calm. “I shouldn’t have asked." 

January shakes her head, takes a deep fortifying breath. "Don’t be, it’s alright,” she replies, and if her voice is a little wrecked, a little brittle, well…

And maybe she says it’s alright because there’s no malice in his thoughts. No disgust - no, never that and never because of her or anything she would ever tell him (and if _that_ thought doesn’t just make her want to laugh out loud because he has _no idea_ ). There’s a definitive divide in Daniel’s mind between her and the others even without January answering his question. Just as he had made the divide between Sidestep and January. 

ReGene. January. Sidestep. 

Three faces. Three masks. Three divides. She’s not sure how much more Daniel can separate the pieces of her identity before the person he says he loves isn’t even _her_. Before that person in his head becomes something he _wants_ her to be rather than the person she is… 

_Before he starts to look at you like Ortega does. With the weight of too many expectations._

She can’t even make the distinction between her masks that Daniel can. Not anymore. There are too many threads that she has to keep separate and they keep getting tangled and twisted into knots. And one day she’s going to get caught in her own spider’s web of lies and deception. ReGene. January. Sidestep. Jane. Enyo. She is all of those and more. And yet, perhaps, maybe none of them at all because she’s never had the true freedom to discover who or what she might really be. 

January can’t fault him for his curiosity even though she knows that she should. After all, it’s not everyday the person you’re in love with tells you that they’re not even human. She also knows it would be better in the long run for them both if she shoved him away with all the violence trapped behind the prison of her ribcage. 

_But you tried that already._

“I'm… valuable,” January finally says on an exhale. 

She sees Daniel shake his head out of the corner of her eye. “January, it’s okay you don’t -”

Her fingers, gentle against the plush of his lips, cut him off. Her hand is a ruined mess compared to beauty of him. Long fingers that would be elegant were they not crooked from fractures that healed wrong or the scars on her knuckles and the jagged, chipped polish of her nails. 

“It’s okay,” she assures him. 

Daniel nods, his mind going soft and golden like sunrise so overwhelmingly relieved that she hasn’t run, hasn’t tried yet again to push him away. His expression remains neutral as he takes her hand, kisses the scar on her palm that itches when she’s stressed, then lightly over the pulse fluttering beneath her wrist and the haggard scar there as well. He’s not certain he could bear to be parted from her now. 

“Okay,” he replies. “Tell me.” 

So she does, haltingly at first, then with more confidence if not with more detail. It’s more a bullet point summary because truthfully she can’t bring herself to give more details. There’s things Daniel doesn’t need to know, things January doesn’t _want_ him to know. She doesn’t want to add even more fuel to the raging wildfire of anger his thoughts have become. 

Daniel never moves to comfort her, or try to reach out and touch her again as January speaks; just sits quietly, holding his rage softly inside himself even if she can see it hardening his eyes and tightening his jaw. And even though there’s a whirlwind of questions in his mind, he never asks them, never pushes her for more than she’s willing to give. 

Not like Ortega who asks and pushes and _insists_ because he doesn’t know how to give up without a fight and everything he’s ever let go of has bruises from how hard he holds on. Because he wants everything to fit into the image he has in his head, wants to fix everything, fix _her_. And it doesn’t matter to Ortega how much he cuts himself on all her sharp edges trying to piece her back together. 

“And… that’s it,” January finishes rather inelegantly. 

“So I take it that January isn’t your real name?” 

The absurdness of the question startles a laugh out of her. All the things she had just told him and _that_ was his first question. Relief trickles down her spine, something warm and comforting curls in the pit of her stomach like a content cat. And Daniel smiles, laughs with her, beautiful and so full of adoration for her that for just a moment she hates him. Why should he still love her even now? 

“No, it’s not. They never gave us names. It was January the first time I escaped.”

“And Moreno?” 

She shrugs. “Saw it on a highway sign.” 

“This is why you never officially joined the Rangers.” It’s not really a question. 

With a sigh, January lays back against the pillows, but turns to look at Daniel. “I wouldn’t submit myself to the background check because I knew I wouldn’t pass it.” Idly, she lifts her hand, contemplates the freckles and the scars, and her crooked fingers. “There are so many things that bear my fingerprints, things I don’t remember.”

And then there are things she does remember, like shattering Herald’s knee. 

“Not to mention,” she continues, “if I had done the background check they would have found me that much faster. If they catch me this time… I don’t think I’ll be able to escape again.”

And when it comes down to it, isn’t that why she’s doing this? Why she let Sidestep rot at the bottom of the grave they dug and rose up again as Enyo? Because January won’t let The Farm get a hold of her again and there are no limitations or rules to hold her back anymore. She’ll drag their dirty secrets through the streets with bloodied hands for everyone to see… 

_And what are you willing to sacrifice to see it happen?_

Daniel’s hand finds hers, strong, warm fingers threading through hers. “They’ll have to go through me first,” he insists. 

“They will,” January answers, her voice flat. “They can and they will.” 

The bed shifts suddenly as Daniel moves and then he’s over her and January shifts until her knees bracket his hips. There’s that brief flash of instinct she has, the points on Daniel’s body she needs to hit to escape, but she forces it away and blinks up at him. His eyes are intense and so, so blue and his thoughts are all the metallic steel color of stubborn determination. 

“You don’t get it. I won’t let anything happen to you,” Daniel says. And he has that look on his face again, the hard set one that he sometimes gets when they spar. He means every single word. “I won’t let anyone or anything take you from me, January.” 

“Daniel -” 

This time it’s _his_ fingers, soft against _her_ lips that stop her. “No,” he tells her as his hand moves, fingertips caressing the angle of her cheekbone, brushing against the bruised circles under her eyes. “I _love_ you.” 

January sighs, if only to keep herself from giving in to the stinging at the corners of her eyes. He’s ridiculous, but he loves her and he would do anything to keep her safe and in his arms. He won’t hear her tell him how he can’t protect her, can’t keep her safe, that he won’t have a choice when The Farm finally comes for her again. 

She rises up on an elbow, catches Daniel in a kiss that he eagerly returns with a soft sound. She’s not sure if she loves him, and if she does, how would she know what love feels like? Perhaps they made her incapable of it for all she knows. But she does know that her heart hurts, feels fit to burst when Daniel presses her back into the mattress and his hands start to roam. 

_You are going to ruin him_. 

… Maybe. Lover or enemy. Hero or villain. Human or monster. She has to be both. 

> what is more unfair  
>  than having to choose   
>  between being a monster  
>  or being a hero?
> 
> ( _\- when you have to be both.)_
> 
> when you learn that  
>  the road to hell  
>  is paved with more  
>  than just good intentions.  
>  \- _you are not heads or tails; you are the coin_
> 
> [m.a.w](https://dvoyd.tumblr.com/post/141421606613)


End file.
